Heat of the Moment
by storylover18
Summary: Sam gets sick on day eighty-seven of the time loop and it's miserable. At least when day eighty-eight starts, he'll be better, right? No. It's Tuesday and he's sick. Again. And again. And one more time. sick!Sam, caring!Dean


**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I also don't own some of the dialogue that gets borrowed from the show.**

 **Hello, SPN Family! I've had this story on the go for a while and it turned into quite a long one-shot but I'm very pleased with it. I hope you enjoy :)**

 _Heat of the moment_

The clock radio blared out the Asia song and Sam opened his eyes. The last thing he remembered was watching the head of a hammer soar through the air and implanting itself in Dean's skull. That had been one of the grislier of Dean's eighty-six deaths.

"Come on, Sammy, rise and shine!" said Dean, like he did every morning. Sam sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes.

 _Telling you what your heart meant_

Asia kept singing but Sam reached over to shut off the clock radio.

"Hey, that's a good song!" Dean protested, his toothbrush in his hand.

"No, it's not." Sam muttered, throwing back the covers and standing. Dean gave him a strange look but returned to the sink. Half an hour later they were entering the diner. Out of habit, Sam pick-pocketed Mr. Pickett's keys as the cashier gave him his change and the farewell, "Drive safely now, Mr. Pickett."

Doris counted the change Cal handed her and poured his coffee.

"Hey. Tuesday," Dean said, glancing at the specials board.

"Pig in a poke, yeah," Sam finished his brother's sentence. "Sounds great."

Dean frowned at Sam as they slid into the booth.

"You okay?" he asked and Sam sighed.

"No," replied Sam. "This is going to sound crazy but you have to believe me."

"Have you looked at our lives lately, Sam? Crazy doesn't even begin to cover it."

"Trust me, this is strange even for us."

"Okay," Dean said. "Shoot."

Sam held up a finger indicating to wait and glanced behind him to see Doris approaching. Dean placed his usual order and Sam requested an omelette. As soon as Doris left, Sam looked Dean straight in the eye.

"We're caught in a time loop," he said. "Like Groundhog Day."

Dean grinned.

"Seriously?"

"It's not funny," Sam said sharply. "It's been Tuesday for the last eighty-six days. Everything resets itself as soon as,"

He paused.

"As what?" Dean pressed.

"As soon as you die."

"When I die." Dean repeated. "Seriously?"

"Yes." Sam insisted. "And every time I wake up to that horrible song and we come back to this diner. Mr. Pickett is always a terrible driver, I always steal his keys," Sam tossed them onto the table as evidence. "Cal always robs Tony the mechanic on his way home, you always order a pig in a poke, and Doris always drops the hot sauce."

"What?"

"Wait for it."

Doris approached their table with her tray of coffees and the bottle of hot sauce.

"Two coffees, black, and some hot sauce for the – whoops! Crap."

Sam reached out and caught the bottle before it hit the ground. Doris smiled at him.

"Thanks," she said and Sam gave her a tight nod, setting the hot sauce on the table as Doris walked away. "Nice reflexes," he quoted with Dean and Dean looked surprised.

"How did you know I was going to –"

"Because you say it every morning," Sam replied. "You have to believe me, Dean. Something strange is going on! Every day is the same."

"Okay," Dean said. "You say I always have bacon?"

"Don't bother switching it to sausage. You choked to death on day three."

Dean frowned.

"Really?"

Sam nodded.

"How did I go yesterday? Was it something heroic?"

"A hammer fell off a roof and impaled your skull," Sam told him flatly. "Hardly the stuff of legends."

"Have you tried to break the loop?" Dean asked.

"Gee, no, that would have been smart," Sam said sarcastically. "Of course I have! At first, I thought it was something to do with the Mystery Spot but I've searched it inside and out, even burnt it to the ground, and nothing."

"What about the owner?"

"He's clean. I killed him one day to be sure but nothing changed."

"At least you're thorough," Dean said as Doris set their food in front of them. Dean smiled at her as his picked up his fork and knife. "So, what's next?"

Sam shrugged.

"Your guess is as good as mine," he said. "The only thing I can come up with is keeping you alive until tomorrow."

"Sounds easy enough," Dean said, his mouth full of sausage wrapped in a pancake. Sam sighed.

"Not as easy as you think."

* * *

After they finished breakfast, Sam and Dean left the diner and stood outside on the sidewalk.

"Where do we go?" asked Dean. "Back to the motel room?"

"If you want," Sam replied. "But I don't think it's going to work."

"Sure it will," Dean insisted. "We'll have a relaxing day. You can go out for some take-out later, we can have a few drinks, watch some pay-per-view, it will be great. It will be tomorrow before you know it."

* * *

Dean made it back to the motel alive. He settled onto his bed and turned on the TV.

"Come on, Sammy, lighten up," he smiled at his brother. "What's the worse that could happen?"

Sam chose not to answer that – he knew the worst _would_ happen, it was just a question of _when_ and _how_ – and settled himself at the table with his laptop. He'd been researching everything he could about time loops and the mystery spots of the world but so far, he hadn't found anything useful. Regardless, he was determined to keep searching until he found the answer.

A few hours passed in relative silence. Dean found a classic black-and-white film on pay-per-view and Sam read a long, useless article about concepts of time in Ancient Egyptian lore. Finally, he closed his laptop. Dean looked over at him.

"You gonna go get us some lunch?" he asked.

"Sure," Sam replied, standing up. "What do you feel like?"

Dean opened his mouth but Sam cut him off.

"No tacos."

Dean frowned.

"Don't tell me I died from tacos."

"It wasn't pretty," Sam informed him. "Downright disgusting, really, but yes."

Dean looked saddened by the betrayal of his beloved Mexican food.

"Fine. Cheeseburgers then, unless that's killed me, too."

"Not so far," Sam answered, picking up his coat. "Anything else?"

"Extra curly fries," said Dean and Sam nodded.

"I'll be back. Don't go anywhere."

"Scout's honour," Dean saluted with two fingers.

After nearly three months in the town, Sam was pretty familiar with the culinary establishments and he returned to the motel room with Dean's double bacon cheeseburger and curly fries, plus a salad for himself, within half an hour. He'd stopped at the store and gotten a six pack of beer as well.

"Glad to see you're still alive," he greeted his brother, setting the take-out bags on the table.

"Alive and starving," Dean said, coming to the table. "It smells great."

Sam watched with apprehension as Dean took his food, plus a beer, back to his bed.

"You're just in time for the best part," Dean grinned at his brother, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Sam rolled his eyes but took his salad and a beer to his bed. The two ate in silence, save the somewhat inappropriate noises coming from the TV. Sam was again surprised when Dean finished his food without consequence. He wanted to hope – it was nearly two o'clock in the afternoon, longer than the day usually lasted – but he knew they still had a long way to go before the clock chimed midnight.

Sam's eyelids drooped, though he tried to fight off sleep. He'd never fallen asleep during his Tuesdays so he didn't know what would happen if he did. Presumably nothing so long as Dean remained alive. Sam was tired – worrying about how Dean was going to die was exhausting – and with his belly full and the comfortable bed, it didn't take him long to doze off.

* * *

Sam's first thought when he woke up was that "Heat of the Moment" was not blaring from the clock radio. He sat up quickly and saw Dean on the other bed, the TV flickering in the background.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," Dean greeted his brother.

"What time is it?" Sam asked, his voice cracking horribly in the process. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Three-thirty," he answered. "You alright?"

It didn't take Sam long to realize he was not alright. His throat was aching, his head was throbbing, and his stomach roiling.

"Sam?" Dean asked, sitting up and putting his feet on the floor. Sam didn't answer but launched himself from his bed as he felt his stomach contents rising. He made it to the toilet just in time and threw up, sinking to his knees in the process.

"Let it out, Sammy," Dean said, following Sam into the bathroom. He made one of the facecloths wet and knelt next to his brother, who was being sick for a second time. Dean draped the cold cloth on the back of Sam's neck and waited till Sam finished.

"Did you eat something bad?" he asked and Sam shook his head.

"Not food poisoning," he mumbled. "Head … throat …"

Dean frowned and laid a hand on Sam's forehead.

"You're burning up, kid. Wait here."

Dean stood up and walked towards the door.

"Be careful," Sam muttered. Obviously, Dean going outside was a huge risk but part of Sam welcomed the idea of this being over. He heard Dean pick up the keys to the Impala from the table and close the motel room door behind him as he left. Sam was too busy being sick again to listen for the slam of the car trunk or the creaky stairs and porch to tell of Dean's return but soon enough Dean was back in the bathroom.

"Think you can leave the porcelain throne?" he asked and Sam, swallowing precariously, nodded.

Dean removed the cloth from the back of Sam's neck and tossed it onto the counter as he helped Sam stand and return to his bed. The first thing Dean did was pass Sam the trash can. The second thing he did was re-wet the cloth in the bathroom and hand it to Sam to wipe down his face. The third thing he did was unzip an old, army green medical kit and dig through it until he found the old mercury thermometer. It was the same one John had used when Dean and Sam were small.

Dean took it out of its case, shook it, and held it to the light to make sure the mercury was at the lowest reading.

"Here," he said, holding it out to Sam. Sam put it in his mouth and closed his eyes to wait. Dean glanced at his watch, perched on the edge of his bed, leaned his elbows on his knees, and studied his brother.

Sam certainly looked sick. His face was ghostly white save the bright spots of fever on his cheeks. There was sweat forming at his hairline and he was shaking.

After another glance at his watch, Dean reached over and removed the thermometer from Sam's mouth. He held it up, squinting to read the small markings.

"One hundred and two," he announced. "Why didn't you say something earlier?"

"Because I didn't feel sick earlier," Sam replied grumpily. "I felt fine before I took a nap."

"Is that normal?" asked Dean. "I mean, is it even _possible_ to get sick that quickly?"

Sam nodded.

"Especially for the flu," he replied.

"Fan freakin' 'tastic," Dean sighed, putting the thermometer back in its case. "Can you take something?"

Sam nodded, though he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to keep it down, and Dean returned to the medical kit.

"There's not much in here apart from aspirin," Dean said, glancing up at Sam. "I can run to the store and get you something else if you want."

Sam shook his head.

"Aspirin's fine," he answered. It probably wouldn't help that much but at least Dean would stay in the motel room.

Dean tossed the bottle to Sam, who missed catching it. It landed on the mattress next to him and Sam clumsily opened it, shaking two tablets into his palm. Dean handed him a glass of water he'd filled in the bathroom and Sam swallowed the medication.

"Fingers crossed," he mumbled, stretching out. He groaned as his stomach rolled and he buried his head in the pillow.

"Bucket's right here," Dean said, moving it from the bed to the floor. He watched his little brother with concern but there was nothing else he could do. He settled himself on his bed again.

"Will it bother you if I turn the TV back on?" he asked. Sam grunted something which Dean assumed was permission. The movie had finished and he was now watching a football game. The two college teams were pretty evenly matched and the game was lively but Dean couldn't focus. He kept glancing over at Sam, who appeared to be sleeping again. Finally, Dean turned the TV off and opened the medical kit, taking out each item and laying it on his bed.

The kit had been well-stocked for most of their childhood, reflecting one of the ways John justified leaving Dean and Sam alone for days at a time. Dean remembered looking through it when he was young, either for medicine for himself or Sam or helping John patch up whatever injury he returned with. Over the years, though, the supplies in the kit had been used up. Their stock of bandages and gauze was low, and there was one pathetic, frayed ace bandage. The suture kit had only one needle left and the tweezers were beginning to rust. The bottle of hydrogen peroxide was nearly empty and apart the aspirin, the only other medicine was an outdated bottle of children's cough syrup. The only thing still in decent shape was the thermometer.

Dean glanced at a still-sleeping Sam. Good, Dean thought. What his little brother didn't know couldn't hurt him.

* * *

The town wasn't that big and Dean walked to the pharmacy across the street from the diner. He carefully went up and down each aisle, adding things to his basket. Laden with two large paper bags, Dean began walking back to the motel. The sun was low in the sky and he was beginning to doubt what Sam had said about him dying. Things were looking in his favour.

What Dean didn't see from behind his cumbersome bags was the car swerving towards him.

* * *

 _Heat of the moment_

Sam opened his eyes with dread. Another Tuesday.

The thought was quickly supplanted by sudden urge to vomit. Bolting from his bed, Sam ran to the bathroom and he threw up violently.

"Dude," Dean said, following his brother. "Did you go drinking without me?"

Sam let his arm rest on the toilet seat, onto which he lowered his head.

"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered.

"So what was it? Tequila? Whisky? Scotch?"

"It wasn't alcohol," Sam said, lifting his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. Dean frowned.

"You okay?" he asked, dropping the joke. "Sam?"

He knelt next to his brother and put a hand on his back. He was surprised by the heat radiating through Sam's t-shirt and instinctively put his other hand on Sam's forehead.

"You're burning up, man," he said. "Are you done here?"

Sam nodded miserably and Dean helped his brother stand up.

"You look like crap," he said once Sam was tucked back into bed.

"Thanks," Sam muttered.

"I'm going to get the med kit," Dean announced and left before Sam could protest. He closed his eyes and the next thing he knew, Dean was poking the thermometer through his lips.

"Stoppit," Sam slurred, trying to push Dean's hand away. Dean was insistent, though, and finally Sam opened his mouth far enough to let the thermometer pass. His eyes were still closed and he felt Dean's hand rest on his forehead again.

That's how Sam knew Dean was really worried. In retrospect, Sam should probably be worried, too. Whatever this was had come on quickly and severely but he was too annoyed by the fact that the day had reset itself and he was still sick to be bothered with worrying. Somewhere in the far reaches of his mind he wondered how Dean had died yesterday.

Sam felt the thermometer being pulled from his mouth and he cracked open his eyes. From his perspective, he saw Dean holding the thermometer to the light, concern etched into the strong face.

"One oh two, right?" Sam asked and Dean glanced down, surprised.

"Yeah, how did you –"

"It's a long story," Sam sighed. "Sit."

Dean did as he was told, sitting near the head of his bed so Sam could still see him.

"We're in a time loop," said Sam, the idea of the impending discussion prematurely exhausting him. "Like Groundhog Day."

"You sure you're not hallucinating?" Dean asked. "You've got one hell of a temp."

"It's not the fever," replied Sam. "I've lived eighty-seven Tuesdays in a row. They're always the same."

"Are you always puking your guts out? Because that would suck."

"No, this is new," Sam admitted. "But every Tuesday we go to the diner and have breakfast – you have a pig in a poke, side of bacon – and every Tuesday you die and the day starts over."

"Pig in a poke, huh?" Dean smiled and Sam felt the bile rising in his throat at the thought of food. He swallowed roughly.

"Yeah, Tuesday special."

"How do we break the loop?"

"Don't you think if I knew that I would have done it?"

"Okay," Dean conceded. "What have you tried?"

"Everything under the sun. I originally thought this was related to the Mystery Spot but I've searched every inch of that place. There's nothing there. We've tried laying low but you always manage to die regardless. That's what we were doing yesterday but I fell asleep after lunch and woke up sick. I think I fell asleep again and I don't know how you died."

"You've been sick for a day already?"

Sam nodded miserably.

"Is that normal? For the time loop, I mean. Presumably if the day resets itself, you shouldn't be sick."

"I have no idea. This is the first time I've been sick since, well, in a long time. Normally, the day begins at seven-thirty with Asia."

Dean grinned.

"Could be worse," he said. "You could be stuck listening to Wham! every morning."

"Big picture, Dean."

"Right, sorry. Let's focus on getting you better and then we'll worry about the time loop."

"No," Sam argued. "I can't keep watching you die."

"I'm not going to die." Dean assured his brother. "At least not in the next few minutes."

Sam sighed. He didn't have the energy to argue.

"Have you taken anything?"

"Aspirin, yesterday."

"Take some more now."

Dean got the medication and a glass of water for Sam, who swallowed them with trepidation.

"Are you hungry?"

"No." Sam's response was quick and firm.

"Alright, go back to sleep. I'm going to do a supply run."

"No, something'll happen and it will start over." Sam's voice was tired, verging on a whine.

"I promise I'll be careful. I'm only going to pick up some breakfast and run to the drug store."

"No sausage," Sam mumbled, finally letting his tired eyes slide closed. "And watch out for Mr. Pickett driving. And don't go near the dog."

"The dog?"

"Trust me."

"Whatever," Dean said. "I'll be back in a little while. Here's the trash can in case you need it."

He moved the waste bin beside Sam's bed and felt his brother's forehead one last time. Sam heard him sigh with concern before he left the motel room. As much as he wanted to stay awake, Sam realized there was nothing he could do to stop Dean. He was so tired and it didn't take him more than a few minutes to be fast asleep.

* * *

Dean returned to the motel room with a shopping bag and a take-out bag. Sam woke up when the door opened and immediately turned his head at the smell. It wasn't enough and he quickly found himself locked in the bathroom, heaving over the toilet.

"Sammy?" Dean asked, knocking on the door.

"Eat your pig in a poke or throw it out!" Sam called back, fighting the urge to vomit again.

Dean realized what had happened – the aroma from his breakfast (which smelled delicious, by the way) had pushed Sam over the edge – and not one to waste food, he quickly devoured the pancake and sausage. Trying to be considerate, Dean opened the window and let in the cool breeze.

"Sam?" Dean called again, twisting the knob on the bathroom door. "The food's gone."

Sam picked himself up from the floor and unlocked the bathroom. He was face to face with an apologetic Dean.

"Sorry, man, I didn't think it would be too much."

"'s alright," Sam mumbled, swaying on the spot. Dean frowned and put a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Did you puke again?"

"Three times, actually."

"Well, there went the aspirin," Dean said. "Come on, back to bed."

Again, he led Sam back to his bed and the younger Winchester curled up, wrapping his arms around his aching stomach.

"You need to stay hydrated," Dean told him. "Keep sipping at this."

He unearthed a bottle of lemon-lime Gatorade and put it on the bedside table. Sam couldn't help but smile; Dean knew lemon-lime was his favourite.

"Thanks," he said, snaking out one hand. He popped the top and took a small drink. "What else did you get?"

"I talked to the pharmacist," Dean answered. "And he said you could take both of these."

He held up two different boxes of medicine. Sam squinted, trying to force the random squiggles and shapes into letters and words.

"What are they?" he asked, giving up.

"Cold and flu medicine and nausea suppressant."

Sam nodded tiredly, taking another sip of Gatorade. Dean opened both boxes, handing his brother two gel capsules and one small pill. Sam swallowed them with ease and curled up tighter as a shiver coursed through his body.

He anticipated Dean's hand before it landed on his forehead but he didn't push it away. In a way, it was comforting to know his brother cared so much.

"It's just a chill," Dean said, going to the closet for the extra blanket. He draped it over Sam. "Close your eyes. I'm here if you need me."

"Thanks, Dean."

Sam drifted into a restless sleep. At some point, he was suddenly sweltering and kicking off the blankets. Aware his brother probably wouldn't remember any of this, Dean detangled the sheets from Sam's legs and draped a cool facecloth on his forehead. When the chills returned forty-five minutes later, Dean removed the cloth and replaced the blankets.

He'd just covered Sam for the third time when, on his way to the bathroom, he tripped on his shoelace. Arms flailing as he fell, Dean crashed into the TV stand and lay motionless on the floor.

* * *

 _Heat of the moment_

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

Sam groaned as he opened his eyes and curled into a tighter ball. He wondered how long Dean had lasted yesterday; the last thing he remembered was sipping Gatorade and getting tangled in the sheets, all sense of time lost to his fevered mind.

His head was pounding and he reached an arm out of his cocoon to switch off the radio.

"Dude, what's with the extra blanket? Were you cold last night?"

"'m sick," muttered Sam.

"Since when?"

Sam sighed.

"Two days."

"You weren't sick yesterday, I'd have noticed."

"We're in a time loop," he grumbled. "Like Groundhog Day."

Dean raised an eyebrow.

"I'm supposed to believe that?" he asked, stepping over to the bed. He felt Sam's forehead and his eyes grew wide. "Especially with a fever like that? Dude, you're burning up."

"One oh two."

"What?"

"My temperature, it's one hundred and two degrees."

"How do you know that?" Dean looked around for the medical kit and their old thermometer.

"Because it's been one hundred and two for the last two days."

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"Do you need to go to the ER or something? I can call Bobby –"

"Don't bother. No one will believe me."

"Can you blame them? You're not making any sense, Sammy."

Sam forced his eyes open.

"You've got to trust me, Dean. We're stuck in a time loop and the loop ends when you die."

Sam looked so earnest that Dean felt compelled to nod.

"Okay, calm down. I believe you. But if the loop resets itself, how are you still sick?"

"Don't know," Sam replied. "But it sucks."

"I bet it does. Two days of this?"

He motioned up and down Sam's frame and Sam nodded.

"That's not even the worst of it."

Dean's eyebrow went up.

"Stomach flu," supplied Sam and Dean nodded.

"Got it," he said. "I'll get the med kit."

"There's only aspirin in there."

"Can't hurt to take some, it'll help bring down the fever."

Sam nodded, not bothering to warn Dean before he left the motel room. His brother returned a minute later and began rooting through the kit. Dean took the thermometer from its case, shook it, and held it up to check the mercury level. When he turned to his brother, he found Sam's hand outstretched.

"How did you know?" Dean asked, handing it to him.

"Because you've done it every morning," Sam replied, putting the thermometer under his tongue. "Not to mention it's the first thing you've done every time I've ever been sick."

Dean didn't respond and returned to the medical kit.

"I thought you said there was only aspirin in here," he said. Sam opened his eyes and glanced at Dean, who was holding up the boxes of cold and flu medicine and nausea medicine from the day before.

"That can't be," Sam began but Dean interrupted him.

"No talking," he said, glancing at his watch. "Another minute and a half."

Sam weakly glared at his brother, realizing only now that the extra blanket was also a remnant of the previous day. As soon as Dean had taken the thermometer from him, Sam spoke.

"That doesn't make sense," he repeated but Dean wasn't listening.

"One oh two," Dean said. "You were right."

"Because I've been here before, Dean." Sam insisted. "But this is new. For eighty-six Tuesdays, nothing has ever changed except me. But on Tuesday number eighty-seven, I get sick. Tuesday number eighty-eight, I'm still sick. And now, on Tuesday number eighty-nine, there's medicine in the med kit that you bought yesterday and the blanket you put over me yesterday is still here."

"Sam, this is the fever talking."

"No, it isn't!" Sam insisted. He pushed himself into a sitting position. "Don't you get it? They are exceptions to the time loop!"

"Time loops can't have exceptions. You're imagining things."

"I am not! What if this isn't a time loop?"

"You need to chill, man. Take some meds and go back to sleep."

"You're not listening to me, Dean."

"No, and more importantly, you're not listening to me. You're sick, Sam. Ill. Under the weather. Out of it. Delirious. So, do us both a favour, take the damn medicine, and go to sleep."

Dean was clearly getting frustrated with his brother but as exhausted as he was, Sam was not willing to give up.

"What do I have to do to make you believe me?"

"Get some sleep. If your temperature drops and you're still convinced about exceptions to a time loop, then we'll talk but you've gotta get some rest, man. You look like crap."

"Fine," Sam said. "Give me the medicine but promise you will sit on your bed and not do _any_ thing until I wake up again."

"What? Why?"

"Because you need to survive long enough for me to wake up and explain it to you."

"Fine," Dean said. "If that's what it takes then that's what I'll do. Here."

He held out the same gel capsules and small pill out to Sam, who swallowed them.

"Good," Dean said in a patronizing voice. "Lie down."

Sam did as he was told but he watched Dean unlace his boots and recline on his bed, TV remote in hand.

"There, happy?"

Sam nodded.

"Good," repeated Dean. "Now close your eyes. I'll be right here if you need anything."

* * *

Sam woke up two hours later and the first thing he saw was Dean, still camped out on his bed, watching TV.

"Dean?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Hey," Dean said quickly, shutting off the TV and swiveling so he was sitting on the edge of his bed. "It's about ten-thirty."

"Were you watching _The Price is Right_?"

"Nothing else was on," he shrugged. "It was way better with Bob Barker, though."

Sam smiled but coughed into his shoulder.

"How do you feel?"

"A little better than earlier," he admitted. "But a long way from well."

"Check your temperature," Dean said, handing Sam the thermometer case from the table between their beds. Sam pulled out the old thermometer and stuck it in his mouth. Three minutes later, he looked at it.

"One hundred," he told Dean, pleased that he had been able to make out the reading.

"That's definitely better than earlier," replied Dean. "How's your stomach? Do you want anything to eat?"

Sam didn't but he knew he probably should eat something.

"There's nothing here to eat," he pointed out.

"I can make a run to the store."

Sam sighed.

"What if something happens to you?"

"Then the loop will restart. I know it sucks, Sam, but there's not a whole lotta choice at the moment. You need to eat and that means I need to leave the motel room."

"Fine," Sam agreed, rolling from his back to his side. "But avoid the dog. And watch out for Mr. Pickett."

"Who?"

"Maniac driver."

"Got it. Anything else?"

"Yeah, watch out for falling furniture."

"And there's the fever talking again," Dean said. "Go back to sleep, Sammy, I'll be back soon."

* * *

Sam didn't have much control over staying awake and when he woke up, Dean was sitting on the edge of the opposite bed.

"You're alive," Sam said.

"I could sort of say the same thing about you." Sam rolled his eyes and Dean continued. "I got you soup and Gatorade," he said. "Ready to eat?"

"If I have to."

"I risked life and limb to get this for you."

That at least got a smile of out his brother.

"Fine," Sam said. He pushed himself into a sitting position and accepted the mug into which Dean had poured some of the soup. He sniffed it and swallowed back the urge to throw up.

"Just a few bites, Sammy." Dean encouraged. Sam nodded, determined to please his brother, and picked up the spoon. He ate as much as he could and put the mug on the bedside table next to the unopened bottle of Gatorade.

"Good job," Dean said. "Ready for more meds?"

Sam held out his hand and Dean dumped three more pills into his palm. Sam popped the top of the Gatorade and washed them down.

"So you've really been this sick for three days now?" Dean asked, watching Sam lie down again, wrapping his arms around his pillow.

"Kind of … it's hard to explain. It probably hasn't been three full days," admitted Sam. "Because I never make it through an entire day. Whenever you die, the loop starts over."

"So how many hours, roughly?"

Sam scrunched up his face in concentration.

"First day, maybe three?"

"What about the second day?"

"I don't know, maybe nine or ten? I was asleep when you died. I think you went out in the afternoon."

"And that led to this morning?"

Sam nodded and Dean glanced at his watch.

"It's almost one o'clock now," Dean's eyes levitated to the ceiling as he tallied the hours in his head. "So that's about eighteen-ish hours. That's a hell of a long time to have such a high fever, Sammy."

"It's fine," Sam said, yawning. "It's good, actually. The things that are staying the same – they're exceptions to the time loop."

"Which means it's not a legit time loop."

"Then what the hell is going on?"

"Someone's playing with time?" Dean guessed. "A time-turner situation?"

Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Dude, you just named something from _Harry Potter_. It's fake magic, time-turners don't exist."

Dean shrugged.

"Someone's moving time around."

"Hold on a sec," Sam said. "You've actually read _Harry Potter_?"

"I saw the movies," Dean said off-hand. "I was bored, it was a marathon. Back to the issue at hand. What else can shift time?"

"I can do some research," slurred Sam, already half-asleep from the medication he had taken a few moments earlier.

"It's alright," Dean said. "Close your eyes, Sammy. I've got this one."

Sam didn't argue. Dean pulled the blankets around his brother, felt his forehead, pulled the blankets back down, and fetched the laptop. Settling on his bed, he began doing research.

* * *

Sam was sick and tired of waking up with the sudden urge to vomit. Throwing up was disgusting at any time of day but honestly. What a horrible way to wake up.

"Sam?"

Sam heard Dean calling his name as Sam bolted to the bathroom. Dean quickly put the laptop down and hurried behind his brother. Unlike the previous trips, Sam wasn't able to make it to the toilet in time and left a trail of sick across the bathroom floor before finally reaching his destination.

Dean carefully picked his way around the mess and knelt behind Sam.

"Let it out, Sammy," he said, resting his hand on Sam's heaving shoulder. Dean waited patiently until Sam finished and helped his brother back to bed.

"You're roasting, I bet your fever went up again," Dean said, picking up the thermometer and sticking it in Sam's mouth. Sam closed his eyes and Dean turned to retrieve a compress from the bathroom.

Sam's eyes flew open as he heard Dean's shoe squeak on the tile floor as he slipped in the vomit and Dean went crashing down.

"Dean?" Sam asked around the thermometer. He tried to push himself up but he never got the chance.

* * *

 _Heat of the moment_

Sam opened his eyes and groaned. Day four of being sick and Tuesday number ninety.

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

"No." Sam said flatly, rolling over so his back was to Dean. He had no patience for the conversations that needed to happen. Again.

"Dude, you okay?" Dean asked. Sam heard the mattress recoil as Dean stood up.

"No," Sam answered again. "I'm sick."

"What's wrong?" Dean asked from the foot of the bed. "Roll over so I can see you."

Sam obliged with a sigh, reaching up to rub his forehead. He caught sight of the bottle of Gatorade on the bedside table. That was today's new addition, Sam guessed. The blanket was still draped over him from two days earlier.

"I'm sick," Sam repeated. "And I have been for three days. This is day four. You haven't noticed because we're in a time loop only there are exceptions to the time loop, which means it can't be a real time loop. You think it's a _Harry Potter_ time-turner, which is ridiculous because those aren't real but at this point, I'll try anything. If you want to take my temperature, it'll be one hundred and two but there's new medicine in the med kit. Watch out for the vomit."

"Whoa, slow down," Dean said. "You're not making any sense, Sam."

"Trust me on this one," replied Sam tiredly. "Go get the med kit, you'll see."

Dean frowned and came to the side of the bed, peering down at his brother.

"You don't look well," he observed, laying his hand on Sam's forehead. "And you've definitely got a fever. Were you cold last night?"

"You got the blanket for me two days ago. The Gatorade is from yesterday."

"But –"

"Trust me, Dean. Get the med kit and I'll prove it to you."

"Okay, I'll play," Dean sighed. "It can't hurt to get some meds into you in any case."

Dean left the motel room and returned.

"There's two boxes of new medicine, right?" Sam asked. "Check the packaging. There's four cold and flu gels gone and two nausea pills missing."

Dean opened the boxes and then looked up at Sam.

"How did you know that?"

"Because I've been taking them for the last two days."

"Whatever," Dean replied, tossing the boxes onto his bed. "Let's see how high you're running."

"One hundred and two." Sam answered.

"Humour me," said Dean, shaking the thermometer. He handed it to Sam, who put it in his mouth and the brothers waited in silence until Dean pulled it from between Sam's lips.

"What did you say it would be?" Dean asked.

"One oh two."

"It's not," Dean said and Sam's eyebrows furrowed. He sat up and took the thermometer from Dean.

"It's barely one hundred," Dean continued, watching Sam try to focus on the little numbers. "I didn't think it would be that high, you're not that hot. Warm enough, but not frying."

"That's wrong," Sam said. "It's supposed to be one hundred and two."

"Who says?"

"The time loop," Sam said, handing the thermometer back to Dean. "For the past two mornings, I've woken up with a hundred and two degree fever because that's what it was when I first got sick three days ago."

"If you've been sick for three or four days, maybe you're getting better," Dean suggested. "You've been taking medicine. Speaking of which," Dean sat on the edge of his bed and popped out three more pills for Sam to take. "Here."

Sam swallowed them without argument, noting that his stomach didn't feel nearly as unsettled as it had yesterday. He leaned against the headboard.

"No," he said. "I'm not getting better. Someone or something is _letting_ me get better. The exceptions to the loop are all things I've been using or taking or needing since I got sick."

"I'm not following," replied Dean. "And to be honest, I have no idea what the hell you're even talking about with this time loop business."

Sam sighed. Though he felt better, he still didn't want to go over everything again.

"We're in a time loop," he said. "Or so I thought but something else controlling time. Each day starts at seven-thirty and it lasts as long as you stay alive. Nothing ever changes except for me and the way you die. As soon as you're dead, the day starts over."

"As soon as I'm dead." Dean repeated.

"Yes," answered Sam. "For the longest time, I thought it was to do with the Mystery Spot but there have been exceptions to the loop the last few days."

"Like what?"

"The biggest one is me being sick," Sam replied.

"I thought you said nothing changes except you."

"Yeah, but not like this. I'm the only one to know we're reliving each day but that's it. I always wake up like I did on that first Tuesday. I know for a fact that I reset as well; there was one day I had a really bad headache when you died and I woke up feeling fine. But not this time. That's why I said someone or something is letting me get better. They can do that because they're also the one who has been keeping me sick for the last three days."

"What sort of twisted bastard does that?"

"I don't know," Sam said, brushing past the question. Everything was falling into place. "And there have been other exceptions. The blanket has stayed for a few days. The Gatorade, the medicine. All of that has been carried over from other days."

"Things you've been using since getting sick," Dean concluded and Sam nodded. "So we just need to figure out what has a sick and twisted wish for you and a death wish for me."

Sam nodded again.

"Out of curiosity," Dean said. "How do I usually die?"

"In every way possible," answered Sam. "Yesterday, you slipped in my puke and cracked your head on the bathroom floor."

Dean's face fell.

"Don't say I don't do anything for you, Sammy."

Sam grinned.

"Noted," he said. "Come on, let's crack the books."

"No way," Dean said. "You're clearly not as sick as you've been the last few days but there is no way I'm slipping in a puddle of puke today. You're on strict bedrest, no working allowed. I'll dig into the lore on controlling time."

Sam sighed.

"Fine," he said. "But no leaving the motel."

"Not even for breakfast?"

"Not even for breakfast."

* * *

 _Heat of the moment_

Sam opened his eyes and sat up. He glanced at the clock. It was Tuesday, of course, and seven-thirty. Dean was tying his shoes.

"Rise and shine, Sammy!"

Sam glanced at the clock again and immediately noticed the bottle of Gatorade was gone. He glanced down and realized so was the blanket.

"What?" Dean asked, noticing Sam's puzzled face.

"Nothing," Sam replied, looking back at his brother. Dean shrugged and headed for the bathroom. Sam reached up and felt his own forehead. He felt fine – literally. No fever, his stomach was fine, his head didn't hurt, and his throat felt normal.

He had no idea how Dean had died yesterday – he must have fallen asleep while Dean was researching and something had happened – but whatever was controlling time had finally given up on making Sam sick.

Sam threw back the covers and got ready. He was so relieved to feel well enough that he'd even have a pig in a poke for breakfast.

* * *

Ten days later, Sam was still stuck in the time loop and back to being grumpy about it. The joy of being healthy again had been short-lived and he'd stopped mentioning his illness to Dean. It was just another complication that his brother had a difficult time believing and it didn't change anything so Sam stopped mentioning it.

He was beginning to think he'd been wrong and that everything he'd noticed while sick was the result of fever-fuelled nightmares and hallucinations. He'd done all sorts of research but there was never anything to indicate there could be exceptions to altering time. Everything he found was an all or nothing event.

Until he saw the strawberry syrup.

* * *

Sam held the stake against the Trickster's neck.

"So this is fun for you? Killing Dean over and over again?"

Dean glanced at Sam and then back at the Trickster.

"One, yes. It is fun. It was also fun watching you be sick over and over and over. Dean's quite a good nurse but I began to feel bad for you … sort of. Not like _really_ bad, not bad enough to make you well again, but enough,"

"Enough to start leaving little helpful things around," Sam finished. "Like the medicine and the blanket."

"And the Gatorade," the Trickster replied. "Don't forget the Gatorade. We couldn't have you dying from dehydration, where's the fun in that? If you're dead, there's no point in killing Dean, although this is so not about killing Dean. This joke is on you, Sam. Watching your brother die, every day? Forever?"

"You son of a bitch."

"How long will it take you to realize?" the Trickster asked. "You can't save your brother. No matter what."

"Oh yeah?" Sam challenged. "I kill you, this all ends now."

"Oh-oh, hey, whoa! Okay," the Trickster said as Sam pressed the stake further into his neck. "Look. I was just playing around. You can't take a joke, fine. You're out of it. Tomorrow you'll wake up and it'll be Wednesday, I swear."

"You're lying."

"If I am, you'll know where to find me. Having pancakes at the diner."

Sam glanced uncertainly at Dean and then back at the Trickster, resolve in his eyes.

"No. Easier to just kill you."

A sly grin appeared on the Trickster's face.

"Sorry, kiddo," he apologized. "Can't have that."

* * *

 _Promise me I'll be back in time_

 **A review would be very appreciated, thanks!**

 **Also, for those who were following my other Supernatural fic** _ **Cat's in the Cradle**_ **, I've posted the last two chapters but the notifications were down for an extended period of time so head over and check it out if you want.**

 **Happy reading and writing,**

 **StoryLover18**


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